


Interrogation

by orphan_account



Series: Shadowed [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Unpopular Character, bitches with wi-fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Susan Williams is kidnapped and questioned about her investigation of Oliver. Warning: Susan Williams' point of view. Out-take from "Shadowed," from a different point of view.





	

She regained consciousness in a chilly room with a bag over her head. Her hands were behind her, taped together. Her ankles were taped to the legs of the hard wooden chair. Her heels had come off during the struggle, and her feet were bare against the cold concrete floor.

Like any good reporter, Susan Williams kept track of details. One never knew when they would be important for a story.

She didn’t have time to make any other observations before the bag was torn from her head. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light of the single bare lightbulb. LED, she noticed. This was an environmentally conscious kidnapping.

The second thing she noticed was the crossbow aimed at her face.

The third thing was the woman wielding the crossbow. Long, dark hair. Black mask with purple accents. Dark coat swirling behind her. High black boots.

“Helena Bertinelli,” Susan said. “The Huntress.”

Bertinelli inclined her head. “I heard that you do your homework.”

“I assume you want the world to hear your side of your story. Everyone does.” Susan glanced around, looking for the camera. “You escaped from prison in January, after three years of good behavior. But why escape now?” She shifted slightly in her seat. “Interviews are easier when I’m not taped to a chair.”

“We don’t want to give you answers,” the Huntress said. “We want answers from you.”

We?

A small figure dressed all in black emerged from the shadows. It appeared to be a woman, though the ski mask hid her face. She was carrying a tablet.

“I’ll be your interrogator,” said the woman in black. She pulled up another wooden chair to face Susan and tapped on her tablet. There was something familiar about the voice. Susan wondered if she had interviewed her before. She started flipping through her mental contact list of small, not-particularly-intimidating women.

“Don’t underestimate her,” Bertinelli said, brandishing her crossbow.

“Is she the one who faked your parole file?” asked Susan. She wasn’t going to give up a chance to interview the Huntress.

“I’m asking the questions,” the small woman said. “Who is Prometheus?” 

“Prometheus?” Susan asked. “Oh, you mean the Throwing Star Killer?”

“That was _your_ stupid name,” commented the woman in black. “He calls himself Prometheus.”

“Then you know more than I do,” Susan said.

“I’ve been following your financial transactions,” the woman in black continued, tapping on her tablet. “You are paying someone for information about Oliver Queen. Who is it?”

“I don’t reveal my sources,” Susan replied.

“Why are you investigating him?” the interrogator demanded.

“He’s the mayor,” Susan replied. “I’m a journalist.”

“You’re his _girlfriend_ ,” Bertinelli said. That’s right. Oliver had had an affair with the Huntress, several years ago.

“We weren’t going to talk about that,” the woman in black said to Bertinelli. She turned back to Susan. “What have you discovered about him?”

“You should watch the news,” Susan said.

“She’s not taking this seriously,” Bertinelli commented.

“I know,” the smaller woman said, tapping on her tablet. She looked at Bertinelli, then at Susan. “Who do you think would like to know about the payments that she’s been making? Do you think her employers know?”

“I would send it straight to the IRS,” Bertinelli suggested.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Susan said.

“Fine,” the woman in black responded. She tapped a few more times on her tablet, then shook her head. “Frak,” she said. Unusual choice for swearing, Susan noted, as the woman pulled off her ski mask.

Felicity Smoak. She had been kidnapped by Felicity Smoak. Former CEO of Palmer Technology. Infamous hacker, according to anonymous sources. Oliver’s ex-fiancée.

“I hate that thing,” Felicity said. “Where were we?” 

“Figuring out where to send Ms. Williams’ financial information,” the Huntress supplied.

“Right,” Felicity said.

Susan wanted nothing to do with this. “What is this, some kind of ex-girlfriends’ revenge club? You think I can give you dirt on Oliver?”

“I know everything dirty about Oliver,” Felicity said. “I mean, his secrets. I know his secrets.” She shook her head. “We’re asking about what YOU know.”

“Why?” asked Susan.

“Because the last thing he needs is your sensationalistic, blood-thirsty reporting, after everything he’s gone through.” Felicity glared at her.

“I wouldn’t do that…” Susan protested.

“Tell that to Adrian Chase,” the Huntress said. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t. Because he’s _dead_.” 

Susan flinched. “I would never do that to Oliver.”

Felicity stared at her. “Why not? He’s the perfect target for your kind of exposé.”

“Because…” Susan paused, not quite sure how to phrase it. She was, after all, at the mercy of two women who had also fallen for Oliver Queen. “I know what he’s doing for this city. I know that, despite everything I’ve uncovered, he’s a good man.”

Felicity appeared to catch herself before she nodded more than once. “Fine,” she said.

The Huntress rolled her eyes and lowered her crossbow. “Leverage. Remember?”

Felicity smiled grimly. “Right. Leverage.” She tapped a few more times on her tablet. “Tell him everything. And I mean… everything. If you don’t, all this information goes to your boss. And the IRS. And…” she tapped on the tablet again. “And everything in your bank account will be donated to a homeless shelter in the Glades.”

“It’s not much,” Susan said. “I’m a journalist, not a CEO.”

“Right,” said Felicity. “So I’ll hack your cell phone so you can only use the poop emoji when you tweet.” 

“That will show her.” The Huntress was rather sarcastic in person. She really would make an entertaining interview subject.

Then something pricked Susan’s neck, and she lost consciousness again. When she came to, she was in her apartment. There was one text from her boss, one text from Oliver, three tips about a parking ticket conspiracy, and one from an unidentified number.

The last one said: Don’t forget. 

Followed by a poop emoji.


End file.
